


Apple Pie

by Anonymous



Category: Bates Motel (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Apple Pie, Begging, Comfort, Cuddling, Date Night, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, F/M, Finger Sucking, Flirting, Fluff, Lingerie, Making Out, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Sexual Abuse, Riding, Smut, SoulBates - Freeform, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, poor Norma, soulbates week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 03:25:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11245332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Mother reached up to brush hair out of Norman's eyes. He trembled."The bedroom," she commanded.He went.





	Apple Pie

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt for Day 2 of Soulbates Week: ' **Date Night** / Domesticity'. 
> 
> Been working on this for several days now but it's pretty long so. And I always take forever to write sex scenes lol. I wanted to do a cute winter night in and then apple pie happened. You're welcome.
> 
> This takes place in a better world where they made it into several years together. Norman would be about 23 or 24 here. They work the motel together and have a special date night every week, alternating between nights for Norman and Norma.

Norman rid himself of his manager jacket before the front door closed behind him. He called out, "Hello, beautiful," to his mother, who beamed up at him from the couch.

"Hi, honey," she said, voice warm with amusement and appreciation. 

Norman struggled with the sleeve of his jacket when it caught on his wristwatch. For some reason, he felt his face grow warm. "Give me half an hour and I can be ready. It's your night; where do you want to go?" 

He folded the jacket over one arm and ascended the stairs, only to pause on the third step when Mother stopped him. "Let's stay in tonight, Norman," she said. Mother stood and he swallowed at the sight of her in a short black dress. She held herself in a way that was both elegant and warm, her smile excited. She was so damn sweet. "It's getting so cold outside. And I want to cook for you." She made her way toward the kitchen. "It should be done within the hour." She caught the doorframe and peered back at him, head tilted playfully, curls tumbling with the movement. "Go on and shower, honey, and then we'll eat okay?" 

Norman didn't protest the shower. 

 

When he returned to her, all buttoned cufflinks, smoothed hair, and cologne he knew she liked, his mother was waiting for him with her hip pressed against the edge of the table. Her arms were crossed but she smiled teasingly. "You kept me waiting."

Norman played at contrite, kissed her on the cheek with lowered lashes. "So sorry, Mother."

"Yeah, you better be," she said, tapping an index finger to the side of his chin. She sauntered off to sit at the table, trailing the finger beneath his chin and letting it fall away. Norman blinked at her outright flirtation, enchanted. But then she was ushering him to sit down and eat and he wouldn't dream of disobeying her even though he suddenly really wanted a kiss. 

She'd made ham and potato soup, which he praised both because it was good and because she batted her lashes under the attention, reached up to touch her ear in a nervous gesture. She denied it even as she basked in it. 

"And you look divine in that dress," he continued, his hand a little shaky on his spoon though his eyes remained steadily trained on her face. 

"I thought you might like it," she said, voice light and playful. She pushed back her hair and brushed the backs of her fingers against her delicate jaw before propping her face against them. The ring he'd given her glittered gold in the low light. 

The sight made him soften. "I love you, Mother."

"Awww, I love you too, Norman," she cooed.

They continued eating, the atmosphere as warm and pleasant as the wind picked up outside. Mother jumped up as soon as Norman was done. "I made your favorite!" she announced, dashing to uncover the tin foiled dish on the counter. "Apple pie!" 

She gathered plates and a knife and busied herself with cutting a piece for each of them but Norman did not react. For a moment, realization pinned him to his chair. He remembered, years ago now, asking her to make apple pie with the idea that it would be the last thing they ever ate together. He remembered dancing with her, leaving her the sparrow and the note, the cold metal of the gun, the heat and salt of her kisses when she found him and convinced him to stay in this world in the only way she knew how. 

Norman, struck with the impulse to be near her, found himself shoving his chair away from the table and winding his arms around her waist. He mouthed at the space below her ear and nuzzled her cheek. His mother gave a surprised laugh and reached a hand up to pat his face. "Oh, honey— honey, I know you love apple pie but I'm kind of dealing with a sharp object here."

"We'll eat later, Mother," he urged, gently prying the knife from her hand. She stepped back from the counter, a vaguely annoyed, "Norman," on her lips before he noticed the way she held up her hands. The fingers of one hand were sticky with filling and before Norman could think too much on it, he took hold of her wrist and drew the first two fingers into his mouth. Mother let out a little gasp. Norman watched her expression as he worked his tongue on her nails and beneath soft pads, tasting apples and salt. She looked scandalized, briefly, before she softened with pleasure. Norman's eyes slipped shut. Collecting more sweet filling from the creases at the bends of her fingers, he swallowed. Her cool skin tasted faintly like hand-soap and if he concentrated he could detect something distinctly her. It was familiar, comforting. He traced the inside of her index finger with his tongue, felt the delicate press of her in his mouth— and moaned.

Mother stumbled forward, catching herself with a hand on his bicep. Her mouth traced his ear in a way that was uncharacteristically shaky, distracted. She said Norman's name much differently this time. 

Norman gave a hard suck, groaning at the lingering taste of the filling and the scrape of Mother's teeth against his earlobe. 

She pulled away, taking her wet fingers with her. "Fuck, Norman." Her voice was rough, eyes sharp. They stood together and breathed, reveling in the tension. Norman was no virgin but one wanting look from her and he felt desire as strong as when he was a stupid, horny teenager going after anyone who reminded him of the one person he thought he couldn't have. And when he finally got it . . .

Mother reached up to brush hair out of Norman's eyes. He trembled. 

"The bedroom," she commanded. 

He went.

He knew exactly what she meant- their bedroom. The bed they'd shared for a few years now. Norman kept some things in his room but only slept there when Dylan and Emma showed up and he had to play the devoted son who stayed with his mom so they could care for each other. And he played it well because it was a smaller part of the truth. 

Norman sat at the end of the bed and removed his shoes, socks, and tie, putting them carefully out of the way before his mother arrived. In the top drawer beside the bed were the condoms and lube but he did not go over to them just yet. He returned to his spot at the foot of the bed and waited, always good at playing the devoted, obedient son. He listened to the creaks of the old stairs, counted them, tried not to think about the increasingly tempting urge to palm his half-hard cock through his pants.

When Mother finally showed up, it was without her dress. She paused at the door to regard him with a smirk, one hand braced against the door frame, and the other arm slotted against the curve of her hip. Norman's mouth went dry as he took in the dark blue lace of her underwear. His fingers flexed. He could feel a blush reddening his face in time with his increasing heartbeat.

"Did you buy those for me, too?" he asked with a little smirk.

"Maybe." Mother moved toward him, a bounce in her step, and straddled his lap. Norman kept his hands on his thighs even as she wound her arms around his neck. Her smile was lovely. "Blue, like your favorite color. She drew her mouth over his, not quite touching. Then she laughed. "I didn't want you to see them so I hid them in your old room."

"Oh? I'll have to go in there more often then."

She trailed her fingers over his neck to wind into the hair at the back of his head. "I take it you approve?"

Norman shivered. He closed the distance between their mouths, tentatively touching his tongue to her lower lip. "Oh, very much, Mother," he whispered. 

She kissed him and he moaned into it, acquiescing. The wet slide of her tongue past his lips had his cock twitching. Norman reached up to cup the side of her face. Her skin was soft and warm with her excitement. Mother broke the kiss with a fleeting peck to his mouth before pulling away. She tilted her head into his hand, lashes lowered, mouth parted.

"Norman," she whined, and kissed his palm.

"Yes?"

"Why don't you undress for me?"

Norman's hands flew to the buttons on his shirt, fumbling with the topmost one first. His mother sat back with her palms resting flat on her thighs, content to watch, and the warm weight of her on his lap was the only thing to stop the whine building in the back of his throat. 

Mother rolled her head back and to the side, sighing deeply before her eyes found his again. He knew she wasn't really disappointed, could see the way she fought a smirk, but his desire to please her drove him forward all the same. His shirt fell open and he tugged it off. It was a nice shirt, blue like her eyes, but he shoved it to the floor anyway. A plan forming in his head— one involving sucking a bruise just above the lace on her bra- Norman reached out to hold his Mother's waist. But he only felt the briefest brush of skin on his fingertips before she was shoving him onto his back. 

"Mother!" he cried, grinning. 

She smiled sweetly above him, blonde curls framing her face. Her hands massaged his shoulders before trailing up along his arms, raising goosebumps with the soft skid of her fingers. Her hands curled tight around each wrist. Norman's breath caught. With a look of attentiveness, her teeth dragging along her bottom lip, she pulled his wrists up higher to pin them above his head. 

There was nothing to restrain him, but the message was clear. And even when her hands moved to the quilt on either side of his head, Norman inhaled shakily. Mother bent to bite and suck at his neck and that was it. Norman arched into her, groaning, and through the haze that came with getting much-needed pressure on his cock, he felt Mother's own hum of appreciation. 

Settling back down, Norman tipped his head back to give his mother better access to a tender spot on his throat. The pad of her thumb caressed his jaw. Her hair spilled over him and bathed him in her sweet scent. The silky material of her bra and the warmth of her breasts on his skin threatened to drive him mad; the lace was slightly scratchy but he liked it. He could feel his nipples harden as her chest pressed to his with every movement. She kissed his Adam's apple and in the next moment, sank her teeth into the space between his neck and shoulder. 

"Ah, Mother, please," he begged. Begging usually got him what he wanted. That, or outright worship, which he wasn't in any position to do just now. Both came easily to him.

If she wasn't willing to give, he would resign himself to coming apart under her ministrations. 

His mother sat up. Her thumb rubbed lazy circles on his jaw and her expression was gentle. "Of course, honey."

With a smile she pulled down her bra straps, being agonizingly slow about it. Norman sat up onto his elbows to watch, and only earned a tsk in response. 

When she reached behind her, Norman said, "Let me do that," and sat up fully. His eyes traced the lace and what smooth skin he could see above it. Images swirling behind his eyes, Norman's mouth parted on the urge to taste. To suck. 

Saliva heavy on his tongue, he found the clasp and undid it one-handed. Practice gave perfection. And she was perfection. He swallowed when the material fell away into her lap, one strap caught on her wrist. But he couldn't help himself and bent to kiss a fading bruise he'd left on her breast that night in the motel office. Mother busied herself with getting rid of her top and when it hit the floor, she slipped her hand beneath Norman's chin to lift his face. He blinked, a little disappointed at being denied something both of them enjoyed, though Mother was in charge and he wouldn't push for more than what she so generously offered him. 

Their noses brushed. Norman gave her a toothy smile. 

Norma kissed him, slow and lazy. A warm, distracted press of mouths as she popped the button on his pants and unzipped his fly. After some shifting that only made him gasp, she slipped her hand into his boxers to touch him. A whine slipped from his mouth. Vaguely he registered how embarrassing that was but it hardly mattered when she was touching him, squeezing him. Smiling the way she did, all triumphant and pleased with herself. Norman moved his mouth against that smile, urging her on with an uncoordinated kiss and the unabashed sounds of pleasure he knew she loved hearing from him. He rested one hand on her waist, where he'd learned she was sensitive, and caressed the soft skin of her wrist with the other as she worked him over.

And suddenly she was gone. Norman nearly followed when she pulled away from the kiss and sat back. But he could only let his head fall back at the loss of his building pleasure. He hadn't realized how hard he'd been panting. 

Mother stroked his hair away from his forehead, ever patient and loving. Norman sighed, "Mother." Then, after a few moments, chuckled. "You're so cruel."

Mother tipped her head sideways, smirking. "Oh, but you love it," she purred.

"I do." 

They both moved in for a kiss. She let him take control with a hand in her hair and hungry movements of his mouth on hers. Wet sounds and small gasps filled their space. He drew her lip into his mouth and sucked on it. Then her tongue. In an echo of their moment in the kitchen, Mother withdrew, a string of spit connecting them until it broke. 

"I need you," she said, voice remarkably steady. 

Norman didn't need direction. He worked his pants and boxers down to his knees and let her pull them off completely. She crawled off of him so he could retrieve a condom and lube from the nightstand. He sat back on the bed, propped up against the pillows, and slicked up his length with a loose fist. Mother was there, in his space, helping him put on the condom and then crawling to sit on his spread thighs. She was naked now. The press of her body over his made him shiver and he wound his arms around her waist to pull her closer. Her bare chest heaving over his, the brush of soft, trimmed hair against his cock, wetness and feverish heat between her thighs. She rocked against him and they both groaned at the friction. The spike of arousal left him feeling greedy; he wanted to be inside her, to make her scream his name. 

But he couldn't push her too fast, too soon. She deserved love and gentleness, a partner who saw her for the queen she was and treated her as such. And he did. It was just the two of them in their private world and he'd learned about love from the very best. Norman would always take care of his mother. 

Her eyes were so close to his their lashes tangled together. Dilated pupils were another, beautiful indication of her arousal. Her hands were joined at the back of his neck, holding him there before her. And— wait, there it was, the anxious movement of her knee against his thigh. She put up a good front, his silly, frustrating woman, but she was truly just as needy as him. Norman dragged a hand down the dip of her spine, over the curve of her ass (oh, how she whined!), along the back of her thigh, which must have tickled because she jerked against him, and finally hooked his fingers into the back of her knee. He pulled it forward, against his hip, both to steady her incessant movement and to spread her wider.

He reached for the lube on the bed beside him and Mother sat up a little to follow his movements. She watched him coat his fingers with it and when he discarded the bottle, he held them up for inspection. "Don't worry, Mother," he soothed, watching the light shine on his wet fingers. "I'm going to open you up." He locked eyes with her and smiled. "Then you can do whatever you want with me."

Mother raised an eyebrow, all wariness banished. Norman knew he could ease her mind like no one else. The only man who never hurt her was the one she raised. "Then do it," she demanded. 

And he did. 

Slipping his hands down along her thighs, he drank in her petal-soft skin and anticipatory squirm. He touched her lightly, a little teasing in his caution, stroking her folds and coaxing her to open for him. When her lips parted, he had to struggle against his own greed; she was so hot and soft on his fingers. The raw sensation of touching her was enough to drive him mad. He inhaled shakily and continued touching her, running his fingers up and down, slow, careful. He was grateful for the extra slickness of the lube. Mixed with her natural wetness, it made things so much smoother and sweeter for the both of them. And he never had to worry about her this way. With each pass of his hand, he brushed over her clit and, oh, how he loved the little sighs that escaped her. Her flesh parted for his fingertips and he slowly pushed one into her entrance. Though her muscles clenched at the intrusion, he found no sign of pain in her face and slipped a single finger inside her. Mother shivered. She took what he gave her so easily, so well, he felt fine adding another. The second finger slid in smoothly next to the first and her walls clenched around both of them, drawing them in. Mother whined and dropped her head to his shoulder. "You're doing so well," he whispered. Another finger. A sharp little gasp for his efforts when he twisted them inside her, feeling her slick and hot around him until he found the spot he knew was most sensitive. He loved her like this. Loved the way his fingers moved inside her. She was so warm and receptive to the moderate pace he set. Gave so easily. He felt more than heard her moan against his skin. The vibration went straight to his cock; his pace faltered.

Mother sat up and gently took hold of his wrist. "I'm ready," she said. 

Norman withdrew his hand. Without having to speak, they intertwined their fingers. The cool air chilled Norman's wet skin. He felt the loss of her heat but it hardly mattered when his mother was situating herself over his cock. She slid down onto him easily, in almost a single motion, and he grunted at the feel of her. So slick and hot and perfect around him. Like she was made for him alone. 

She adjusted quickly, moving her hips in a tight little circle, one that made her head fall back on a moan. Norman wrapped his other arm around her, squeezed her hand where it was joined with his on the bed. 

He wanted to thrust into her so badly. But it wouldn't do to roll her over and set his own brutal pace. While she never talked about it, he knew submission dimmed the vibrance in her eyes, killed the confidence and energy in her movements. He'd seen it for years growing up without knowing he had, recognized it again after the assault when they'd first moved here, seen the dying embers flicker yet again years later when he held her too tightly, handled her a certain way, tried to turn her over onto her stomach. The brief satisfaction of being selfish would be nothing compared to what she gave him like this. She was domineering in every aspect, had such a tight hold on him he would be lost without her guidance. And he loved it more than anything. 

So he waited. And she surprised him by lifting herself up halfway before coming back down again, a pace made quick and shallow with need. He matched it, meeting her thrusts with his own. He'd been keeping pace with her his entire life. This was easy.

Her eyes slipped shut but her mouth found his cheek and pressed faltering kisses in a trail toward his mouth. Norman captured her mouth with his, harsh and unyielding, and she let him. 

"Ah, Norman," she breathed against his mouth, and something inside him shifted. 

"You're perfect," he babbled, unthinking, in between kisses. "I want to hear you scream my name. No one is around to hear you, sweetheart, and I know how loud you can get." She whimpered and he lowered his mouth to kiss her collar bone, to mouth at her shoulder when she increased her pace, bouncing steadily in his lap now. His mouth watered. Her skin tasted salty with sweat. He looked up to see her eyes still squeezed shut, face flushed and perfect hair stuck to her temples with sweat. 

Norman's hand hurt where she clung to it. Sharp nails dug a beautiful ache into his skin. He hoped they left a mark. 

His mouth found her ear. "You're so beautiful, Mother."

She moaned his name at that, but it wasn't loud enough, not nearly. 

"I'm all yours," he said, meaning it completely. His control was faltering and he bucked wildly to meet her. Words helped to ground him and he used them the only way he could, his begging an instinct against the force of nature that was Norma Bates. "You are everything to me. Everything."

Mother's eyes blinked open and the blue was so, so dark. She shifted her hips, an abrupt change in angle, and Norman met her with a particularly hard thrust that made her gasp. "I— I'm close, Mother."

"Such a needy boy." She petted his hair absently before bracing her hand on him again. Her thighs trembled with effort. 

"Yes," Norman panted. "Yes!" He could feel it, pooling low inside him. It built like a wave and he wanted nothing more than to writhe beneath her and let it take him. She hadn't exactly woken the motel guests with her noises but he could remedy that later when she was sleepy and sensitive. Restrain her with his tie and ease her fearful trembling with kisses. She would look so gorgeous under him, so perfect at his mercy as she was in everything else she did. He'd pull her apart with his hands and mouth and then lovingly put her back together again. 

His head fell back. So, so close, oh god—

She stopped.

Norman nearly sobbed. When he lifted his head to lock eyes with her, he was reminded firmly of his place under her wing. Just where he loved to be. 

"We'll come together or you won't come at all, Norman Bates," she said, her voice low on a warning. She lifted their hands to kiss the back of his. 

"Mother, I love you so much," he said, grinning despite himself. "But you are a pain in my ass."

And without giving her time to respond, he uncurled his arm from around her waist and reached between them to circle her clit with his thumb. Mother jerked at the contact, squeezing him tight between her thighs. The teasing ended there. He rubbed her furiously for several long moments, listening to her moans build and build. She pulled his hand away and collapsed against him, gave an experimental roll of her hips that created friction for herself. She purred, "Norman," into his ear.

Norman moved. He gripped tight to her hip and rocked into her with feverish want. A chorus of, "Mother," on his lips, sweet like honey, like apple pie. Pleasure mounted and he reached out for it, greedy. Above him, Mother shivered and cried out his name with increasing volume. Her strained voice filled his ears and finally, finally he came. 

It was short lived but blinding. Pleasure crashed over him and was all that existed and when he blinked into awareness, he found Mother meeting her own end, her body milking him for more. They moved together through their orgasms and when he collapsed onto the pillows to do nothing but gasp for air, she followed him.

They came down together too. Rested. Basked in each other. It was all Norman wanted for eternity, his mother soft and sated and warm over him. Sleep beckoned but he preferred to be awake to witness this. She pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. "I love you, Norman."

"I love you, too, Mother."

She pulled off him and turned into her side but quickly snuggled against him before they got too cold. Norman turned to face her, propping his head on his arm. He stroked her wild hair back from her face and watched a delightful, unguarded smile dawn over her features. She draped an arm over his side, trailing aimless patterns in his back with her fingers. 

Contentment radiated from her. She sighed when Norman rested his palm on her cheek. "You always take care of me, Norman."

"Of course I do," he said. "We're two parts of the same person, aren't we?"

She giggled, cute and girlish. He moved to press a kiss to the little wrinkles that showed up on the bridge of her nose when she laughed. And that turned into a prolonged, affectionate nose rub. Which dissolved into kissing. 

Too soon, she pulled away and sat up. "C'mon, I wanna get a shower." Norman groaned in protest but she linked their hands again and used them to tug uselessly at his arm. "I feel all gross," she whined. 

Norman smiled. "I think you look beautiful."

Mother rolled her eyes, sighed exaggeratedly, and returned to lay half on top of him. She tilted her head and rubbed her hand over his chest. Her smile was, admittedly, adorable. "Why don't we bathe together, hmm? And then, uh, we can go down to the kitchen and eat the apple pie we left?" 

Norman fought a smile that ultimately won out. "That sounds wonderful."

They raced each other to the bathroom, never mind that their hands were still joined.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
